


what you've done to my heart

by outofcases (hockeycaptains)



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Office, Domestic Fluff, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Multi, cisgirl!Harry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-22
Updated: 2015-08-22
Packaged: 2018-04-16 13:29:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,287
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4627002
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hockeycaptains/pseuds/outofcases
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"This thing between them started nearly a year and a half ago, now. Harry had just gotten hired by PR, and Louis was immediately taken with her. She was leggy and smiley and confident and beautiful, and they hit it off from the very start, easy like it's never been with anybody.</p>
<p>And it was fine as just the two of them, for a while, but then one day they found themselves getting each other off in a supply closet while talking about Liam and the things they’d like to do to him, and, well...things shifted, a bit."</p>
<p>Lilourry as coworkers who also are dating.</p>
            </blockquote>





	what you've done to my heart

**Author's Note:**

  * For [frenchkiss](https://archiveofourown.org/users/frenchkiss/gifts).



> Happy birthday Ellen!!! I love you a whole lot and I hope you enjoy this fic, which comes as a complete surprise to you because I definitely didn't keep you updated or ask for various prompts from you.
> 
> A little thing: I probably could have rated this M, but nothing actually happens - it's just Louis daydreaming/remembering things that are not particularly explicit. Just a head's up if that makes you uncomfortable.
> 
> Title from They Don't Know About Us by One Direction
> 
> No beta, so all mistakes are mine.

The funny thing is, the day starts out pretty great.

He’s finally gotten over that head cold, Harry is in the kitchen humming and making breakfast, and Liam’s arm is heavy and warm across his middle, holding him close. Louis stretches out, flexing his feet and rolling his shoulders, and Liam stirs.

“Time to get up,” Louis sing-songs under his breath.

“Morning,” answers Liam, voice low and sleep-raspy. He sounds like he’s smiling.

Liam takes the first shower, and Louis stumbles, still bleary-eyed, into the kitchen. “Hi,” says Harry, drawing it out in that syrupy way of hers. “Be ready in a minute.”

Louis walks up behind her and wraps his arms around her middle, presses his face to the warm spot between her neck and shoulder blades. Her hair, usually pulled up into a messy bun or held back by a scarf, is a tumble of curls down her back, and she’s still humming. He can feel the vibrations of it in the very back of her ribcage. 

The sound of water cuts off in the other room, and Louis takes it as his cue, presses a kiss to the nape of Harry’s neck and giggles when she squirms. “Don’t let Liam eat all of it,” he tells her, and she promises not to with a smile, dimples out full force.

They join each other in the shower, sometimes, but mornings are generally a bit mad, and they’ve been late enough times because they got distracted between soaping up and rinsing that it’s better this way. Not that Louis doesn’t occasionally try to shake things up, of course, but this morning he lets it be, content to stay exactly where he is.

Breakfast is easy the way their best moments are, feet nudging each other purposelessly under the table, some idle chatter. By the end of it, Louis has fully woken up, and it looks like Harry and Liam have, too, eyes brighter and words coming quicker than they were earlier.

They shrug on their coats together by the door, and Louis stops them before they can walk out. “Kiss,” he says, like he doesn’t do this every morning, and Liam and Harry both comply happily before they’re all shuffling into the cold.

This is his favorite thing, he thinks. Facing the world with the two very best people by his side. Liam is crooning along with the radio as he drives and Louis feels fondness expanding like a hot air balloon in the center of his chest.

“You’re cheery,” Harry comments, smirking a little so her dimples pop.

Louis grins, accepts it. “It’s going to be a great day.”

Liam smiles at him in the rearview mirror, not a lick of tension in his body, and Louis thinks _yeah, this is how it’s supposed to be._

When they get to the office, they receive the customary odd look, but it’s not their fault that their co-workers simply can’t seem to grasp their relationship. He tries not to think about it when he can avoid it. The frustration is too much hassle. And it’s borderline ridiculous, thinks Louis, since they all saw it play out, anyway.

This thing between them started nearly a year and a half ago, now. Harry had just gotten hired by PR, and Louis was immediately taken with her. She was leggy and smiley and confident and beautiful, and they hit it off from the very start, easy like it's never been with anybody.

And it was fine as just the two of them, for a while, but then one day they found themselves getting each other off in a supply closet while talking about Liam and the things they’d like to do to him, and, well...things shifted, a bit.

The normal reaction probably should have been jealousy when Harry would whisper something along the lines of, “did you see his shoulders in that shirt today? _Fuck_ ,” before kissing Louis within an inch of his life, but really it got him just as worked up, just as hot. Gets him just as hot now, too.

It took them a while to actually approach Liam. He was always so clean cut, so staunch and pressed and proper, and they were worried he’d startle like a spooked animal if they got too close. So they flirted with him shamelessly and hoped for the best. In retrospect, it may have been a little cruel to mess with his head like that when Louis and Harry continued to spend most of their free time together, clearly more than friends, but it was the only plan they could think of.

And anyway, it worked.

Thing is, it ended up being Liam that came to them. He was half blushing, awkward but still so open, so willing to try, and he’d asked, “are you both flirting with me?” and Louis remembers breaking out in the wildest grin, Harry doing the same beside him.

“Yeah,” said Louis, “about time you noticed,” and it all spiraled from there. They work together, they live together, they go on stupid date nights to semi-fancy restaurants and kick each other under the table together. Louis had maybe even caught Liam looking up rescue shelters near them after Louis mentioned he’d love to get a puppy someday - or, well, he trawled through Liam’s internet history, but if Liam didn’t want Louis to find out he should’ve hidden his computer better.

Their relationship has always been the easy bit. It’s the rest of it that’s hard.

This morning, for some reason, seems to be worse than the rest.

The whispers start early. It’s something they’ve had to get used to: the sly glances, the hushed derision, being the center of office gossip always and forever. Louis wants to tell them to mind their own business for once but it probably would only serve to make things worse, and Harry and Liam have insisted in their own ways that they don’t want to fight. That doesn’t mean it doesn’t get under his skin, though.

It’s the new recruit, thinks Louis, stirring things up with that awful fake smile on her face. She’s been doing it since she got here two weeks ago, always that touch too curious and friendly to be trusted. Not to mention that Louis has heard the occasional comment walking by the water cooler, none of which have helped to endear her to him. Harry seems to think she might be okay, but that’s just Harry, really, always giving people the benefit of the doubt.

“Tell me,” says Ruby, walking up to them before they even split up to go to their separate departments, “is it true that you three all live together? Doesn’t that get a bit crowded?”

Louis wants to tell her to mind her own business, and also exactly where she can stick her nosiness, but he manages to keep his mouth shut in some Herculean effort that he’s going to demand be recognized and appreciated later.

Liam, thankfully, just smiles patiently. “Yeah, no, I mean, we’re all right. It works for us.”

Ruby purses her lips. “It’s just a bit...unconventional.”

“A bit, maybe,” says Harry, who seems to be amused more than anything else. Her hair, wild as ever, is tucked up into as tight a bun as she ever seems to manage, and the smirk on her face is especially sexy when highlighted by her professional attire. Louis almost, almost manages to distract himself from this conversation by thinking about fucking Harry over a desk and ruining her makeup, but then-

“You don’t think it’s inappropriate?”

“Excuse me?” retorts Louis, so quick even Ruby seems startled.

She recovers quickly, though. “Just the fact that you’re flaunting your...relationship,” and here she inserts so much derision into her tone that Louis actually clenches his jaw, “in the workplace. It seems a bit unprofessional, is all. And potentially distracting, for you and for the rest of us.”

“What’s distracting,” answers Louis, “is the fact that you’re a nosy, attention-seeking-”

“Right!” cuts in Liam. “We’re going to do you a favor and pretend this chat never happened, how’s that?”

Ruby purses her lips, obviously irritated. “I, on behalf of myself and a few of our colleagues, just wanted to express some concern, that’s all. It would be a shame if your being together the way you are were to cause any problems, or lower productivity. We all work too hard to let something like that happen. Do you understand?”

_I’m threatening you_ , she’s saying. _This is a threat._

Louis’ hands are clenched into fists by his sides. This isn’t a new thing. He’d thought the worst was over by now, but apparently not.

“If you’re so worried about productivity, maybe you should get to work,” says Harry, and somehow manages to make it sound friendly. “I have a meeting in fifteen, so I’m going to make sure all of my things in order. Nice talking to you, Ruby.” She shoots Liam and Louis tiny smiles and then turns around, sauntering off and leaving Ruby lost for words. Louis really, really loves her.

“I should get going a well,” says Liam, and Louis agrees, and then they’re heading to opposite ends of the workplace and Louis won’t get to see them until lunch, maybe later if he has to work through it.

As the day goes on, he finds himself getting more and more frustrated. It’s like Ruby has incited some kind of movement against them, because his usual conversation partners are silent, and everything feels stilted and weird. He catches more than one person staring, and it’s different to have it aimed at him specifically, even when he isn’t with the others.

To make matters worse, he does end up working through lunch, because the conversation with Ruby left him distracted and put him behind schedule.

Around three o’clock, he’s headed to the bathroom when he hears, “always thought it was strange, but I didn’t know it was affecting their numbers.”

Another man replies, “normally I wouldn’t care, but if they’re driving down department productivity and one of us gets fired because of it, I won’t hesitate to punch one of their lights out.”

There’s a grunt of agreement, and Louis feels a familiar swirl of sickness and rage bubbling up. “Hey, mate,” he says, walking briskly around the corner, sharp smile in place. “You mind saying that to my face?”

Louis doesn’t think he’s ever said more than three words to these guys. It smarts, that they’re talking about him and Liam and Harry like they’re inconveniences, like they don’t work just as bloody hard as everyone else. And it isn’t as if he’s ever walked into a fight and not engaged; it just isn’t in his nature to shy away. 

From the looks on their faces, apparently they misread Louis. Good. He fucking loves proving people wrong.

“We were just saying, uh…”

“You were just saying,” cuts in Louis, ever helpful, “that my relationship in any way affects my professional work. Which, obviously, it doesn’t, because I can keep my personal life separate from my job. I had the best numbers in the department last night, so you can do your work and I’ll do mine.”

With that, he leaves, hands still shaking from how angry he is. He knows he can’t fly off the handle in this setting, that it’d only give them more ammunition, but what he wouldn’t give to throw just one punch. Never mind that most people here could probably flatten him with a single blow. He’s scrappy. He can get by.

The rest of the day drags by, and his seething tempers into frustration. It’s not as if they’re shoving their relationship into anyone’s face - in fact, the opposite is true. Louis is pretty sure he’s only gotten off with Harry in the supply closet once since last month. (He’d have gotten off with Liam, too, but Liam is surprisingly determined to keep their bedroom activities in the bedroom. Figures.)

By the time he clocks out, Louis is exhausted and probably visibly upset, collecting his things with a slightly manic energy. It feels like all of the mess of today is catching up to him at once, and part of him doesn’t even want to meet up with Harry and Liam at the front because he knows how easily they’ll be able to read him, how they’ll see it written in bold across his face.

It’s not a big enough part of him, though, so he makes his way to the doors with his bag slung over his shoulder and his coat in his hands and greets them with a small, tired smile. “Hey,” he says. “Long day, huh?”

“Let’s get out of here,” says Liam, hiding his concern rather poorly. He and Harry both look tired, too, but they always bore things like this better than Louis, were always more likely to let it slide right off of them, where Louis is the type to sit on things and let them fester, to pick them apart until they’re even darker than they were to start with.

“Okay,” says Louis.

In the car park, Harry tucks a hand into his, and Louis grips it just this side of tight, holds it like an anchor.

The drive home is quiet, a stark contrast to that morning, and Louis can’t stop fiddling with a loose thread on his trousers.

“You’ll make it worse,” Harry admonishes gently, covering his hand with hers, entire torso twisted around to reach from the front seat. 

Louis nods, pulls out his phone, and says nothing.

The first few minutes inside the house are quiet, too, the three of them shedding their coats and taking off their shoes and brushing off the snow. Louis is cold down to his bones, can't stop the shivers.

“I’ll make some tea,” he says. He needs some space, he thinks, or at least something to distract him, some small task to help him calm down.

It’s never been this bad before. He’s never felt so beaten down after, ostensibly, winning a fight. But something about today has gotten hooks into him, has barbs, and he can’t pull it out without hurting himself further. So it stays, and he goes to the kitchen to make some tea.

Harry joins him a few minutes later, just as the kettle is starting to whine. “You’re upset,” she says, matter of fact, and when he turns to face her it’s like she’s looking straight to his heart, big doe eyes full of concern. “Is this about what Ruby said earlier? You know she wouldn’t say anything - she’s got nothing backing her up, we’re all good at what we do. There’s no reason to worry.”

“Not worried,” protests Louis, though maybe he is, just a little bit. “And it’s not just her. Everyone’s talking about it.”

Harry sighs. “Last month everyone was talking about how I’m actually a spy sent by MI6, and the month before that they were talking about you and Liam leaving me and running off to Spain. They’re always talking shit. You know that.”

“How do you know Liam and I aren’t going to leave you and run off to Spain?”

“Louis,” she says, flat. It’s the look she gives him every time he tries to deflect, and it's scarily effective. “Did something else happen?”

He thinks to the conversation by the bathroom, to the looks they always get, to the whispers he’ll never hear but knows are happening behind their backs. “I’m just tired,” he says, looking back down at his hands, putting the tea bags into the mugs carefully. “It’s fine. I’ll be better tomorrow.”

Harry fiddles with her hair a bit. “When you’re done with the tea, bring it to the other room and we can all talk about it, how’s that?”

_I’d rather be punched repeatedly in the face than talk about it_ , he thinks, but Harry’s eyes are getting bigger and sadder and Louis never was any match for her.

“Fine,” he says instead, still looking at his hands. “Be out in a minute.”

Harry presses a kiss to his shoulder blade and leaves.

He makes the tea slowly and deliberately after that, doesn’t even get miffed when he has to get the sugar out and spoon some into Liam and Harry’s mugs. He’s been trying to get them to take it black for ages, but tonight can be an exception, he thinks.

When he walks out to the other room, Harry and Liam have left him a space between them on the couch, and they’re curled up under some heavy blankets. Liam smiles at him, eyes warm, and gestures with his head. _Join us_ , he’s saying. Louis feels a little warmer, thinks _don’t mind if I do_ and sets the tea down, makes his way over and cuddles up close.

It’s soft under there, close like all of the other problems are melting away. Harry has her head on Louis’ shoulder and Liam’s arm is slung across them both, Louis tucked right into his side, and it’s the most relaxed he’s felt all day. Their limbs are overlapping and their heat is mingling and Louis wonders how anyone could think this is wrong.

“You okay?” asks Liam, voice a low rumble.

Louis shrugs, doesn’t want to break the quiet. It’s easier to just sink into the stillness. He doesn’t want to be made to think about it.

That’s the plan, and it would’ve worked, too, except then Harry had to hold his hand again and say, “if people don’t like what we have, then that’s their fault, not ours,” and suddenly, mortifyingly, Louis is crying, hitched breaths at all.

His cheeks must be lit up with a hectic flush, as hot and prickly as they feel. He turns, hides his face in the back of the couch. “Sorry,” he says thickly, “I’m fine,” but Liam and Harry are already tugging him even closer, whispering assurances, and it breaks down all his defenses, makes him feel young and soft and broken open.

They let him cry for a bit, gentle touches and gentle words, and Louis thinks _it’s not fair, it’s not fair, it’s not fair_ , doesn’t realize he’s said one out loud until Liam takes his hand, unfolding it from where it’d been clenched into a fist, and asks, “what’s not fair, love?”

“They treat us,” he starts, voice wobbling, “like zoo animals, like they’re better than us just because they don’t understand-.” Here he breaks off, starting to feel an ache bloom behind his eyes.

“You two,” says Harry, slow and intentional and so, so genuine, “matter more to me than anyone. If people don’t get it, they don’t matter.”

“Three of us against the word, right?” asks Liam, ghost of a smile flickering at the corner of his lips.

Louis smiles, too, but it’s a small, twisted thing. “World hates our guts, though.”

“Don’t tell me you’re turning down a fight now,” says Liam.

And, well, when he puts it like that. “Fuck the world,” says Louis, and Liam grins this awful, beautiful grin that lights up his entire face. Louis feels a bit like he’s staring into the sun. On his other side, he can feel Harry shaking with laughter, eyes probably screwed shut with it. Fuck the world, he thinks, again and again. Harry and Liam are the two best people in it, and Louis loves them so much he thinks he might burst with it, cheeks still damp from crying but heart so, so bright.

The tea is getting cold on the table, but Louis isn't planning on moving for a long, long time.


End file.
